A Little Under Ten Minutes
by Exploded Pen
Summary: It's a sunny day in May, 4:30pm, and everything seems fine. Except it's really not. Features Mary Reed and a young Malcolm.


**000 Disclaimer, I own nothing at all 000 I seem to have an obsession with Malcolm and his parents at the moment, bit worrying but never mind! lol I was trying to think of something for the 'I am Fine' month and this came out instead, hope you enjoy! 000**

It's almost four thirty on a Saturday. It's not raining for once (it's been a particularly wet May) and the sun is out. It's a beautiful day and there are mothers chivvying small children around shops, teenagers gathered in groups debating music, and men looking like they'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, other than shopping.

Its fine, it's all fine.

Except it's not.

Because somewhere along the way, Mary Reed turned to have a swift look at a cardigan seeing if it would perhaps stretch over her bump, and then when she looked back, her son, her baby boy, had disappeared from the safety of the push chair.

There's two possible scenarios; one, he's been taken, taken by a stranger (only for this to have worked he must have been asleep, strangers leaning over him make him nervous, and in her panic she can't remember if he was asleep or looking at the colourful clothes around him), or two, he's released himself from the pushchair and toddled off somewhere (this is a recently learned trick).

She can't actually imagine which one's worse. The idea that someone has stolen away her baby, or the idea that he's wandering around by himself.

"Malcolm!" the scream tears from her throat the second she sees the empty pushchair.

She's overreacting, he's probably fine, after all it's been only a few seconds, just a few seconds and he can't have gotten far...

Except he's two and a half years old, exceptionally quick on his little legs and very good at hiding.

And if someone else has actually taken him...

"Malcolm!" She's bending down as far as her bump allows, peering beneath the clothes to see if he's there. He's not, and she can't see any sign of tiny white trainers and blue dungarees. "Malcolm!" She's moving faster now, dragging the pushchair behind her, waddling through the clothes racks, occasionally bending down, and constantly calling his name.

Other shoppers are staring at her with something akin to concern and worry.

She wants to cry, she can actually feel the tears starting and curses her manic hormones. She can't break down, she has to find him.

A security guard approaches her and she all but latches onto his uniform, spilling out the situation as fast as she can speak, throwing in a detailed description of her son, praying that he's been seen.

"We could put a call out over the tannoy," the guard suggests, eyeing her like she's going to explode.

"He's a toddler," she shrieks impatiently, because this is wasting time.

A second later she gives up; shoving the guard away and hurrying on with the search, part of her registering the promise that the guard will put word of Malcolm's disappearance out as she leaves.

"Malcolm!" She's out by the main entrance now, hovering indecisively, uncertain whether to remain searching the shop or go out onto the high street. If she dallies here when he's gone outside...

Out the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of a tuft of dark brown hair. She whips round, panting, exhausted, shaking with suppressed fear, and takes a few steps further into the shop.

It's him.

She's moving towards him, it feels almost like she's moving in slow motion, trying to calm herself down, trying not to frighten her son with her distraught appearance.

There's someone else with him, another little boy, although this one is a year or two older, blonde hair sticking out all over the place and what looks like mud and grass stains on his knees. He's talking to Malcolm, showing him the toy rocket in its brightly coloured packaging, grinning as he explains it, making zooming noises as he flies it around Malcolm's head.

Mary scoops Malcolm up from behind, he squirms in panic for a moment till he realises who it is.

It feels like an eternity since she saw the empty pushchair, rationally she knows it been less than ten minutes but she can't stop herself shaking, squeezing her eyes shut as she hugs him tight. She's never lost him before.

"Mummy, look," he offers her a wide smile and points at the rocket in the other boy's hands.

Another mother suddenly appears; looking more resigned than anything else, although her face brightens when she sees the blonde headed boy. "Charlie! What have I told you about wandering off?" Her accent's American and though there's worry there she doesn't sound terrified.

Mary can't understand it, she can't even force herself to loosen her grip on Malcolm, never mind make the churning sensation of fear go away.

The other mother catches her eye and gives a comforting smile. "Yours got away from you too huh?"

Mary nods, not trusting herself to speak. Malcolm pats her face worriedly. "Mummy?"

"First time this one decided to wander off we were at the beach" the other mother indicates her son, one arm drawing him close. "He was gone for almost an hour and a half before someone brought him over to lost and found. When I got there he was playing with the toys." She eyes Mary's bump. "I didn't know whether to yell or hug him and never let go." She smiles.

Mary nods politely, but she can't bring herself to speak, she's barely managed ten minutes knowing her baby was missing. Although when she looks back the other mother is tense beneath the friendly smile. "Time to go," Mary murmurs, leaning over and reluctantly putting Malcolm back in the pushchair. The other mother smiles again and the blonde haired boy, Charlie, gives Malcolm a friendly wave.

"Bye," says Malcolm shyly.

Mary fastens Malcolm in, tightening the straps a little as if it could hold him there forever. "You stay put, young man," she tells him, only just managing to keep the tremble out of her voice. "You stay put or mummy will be very cross, do you understand? You don't wander off."

He frowns up at her worriedly, with that expression he pulls every time he becomes aware he's done something wrong.

There's a lump in her throat and she stays bent down in front of him, her eyes squeezed shut for the longest moment, even though her back is screaming in agony and her muscles are still trembling from her earlier shock. Malcolm pats her face again.

"Mummy?" He sounds worried.

"I'm fine," she whispers, standing up slowly.

Its fine, it's all fine.

Except it's really not.

**000 Please, let me know what you think :) 000**


End file.
